Here is an account of this story that my Dad wrote soon
after the crash. It was submitted for publication
but never made it. Now, 35+ years later, the
internet provides the way! No changes have been made
to his original manuscript except for spelling and
punctuation.
The Flight I'll Never
Forget
J Enns
We all survived 1971. Some
of us remember it as the year of learning, some as the
year of teaching, some of us came dangerously close to
our inevitable end on this earth. For some no
doubt it was a beginning. I survived in spite of
the of the odds, and class myself in the group that
learned.
December 22 1971 came along
unusually mild, with afternoon temperatures in the high
30's. I had 300 plus hours in my log and a brand
new night endorsement on my flying license. Most
of the my flying at this time of year was night since
daylight is short and business is long in
December. Southern Manitoba is densely populated
and very pretty in December due to an abundance of
festoon lighting. I had been in and out of
Winnipeg a few times in the past few weeks and I recall
the splendor of these winter flights well.
December 22 my work took me past the airport 3 miles
east of town, I stopped by my hanger and stuck the
engine warmer in the cowling, hoping that the weather
would hold till that night. All day heavy overcast
was sitting over southern Manitoba at about 2000 feet
above ground level, with winds less than 5 miles per
hour. My 9 year old son Darren was in for a
surprise that evening -- his very first night
flight. By 19:00 hours the two of us were pushing
Yankee-Romeo-Alpha out into the night under dripping
hanger doors. Lights were visible for miles, the
continental 85 purred on the second blade. We
taxied out down 260, and I'm sure Darren was thinking
what he would tell the kids in his class about this
flight, while I did a thorough run-up on the button of
080.
There is something about night
takeoffs that have always intrigued me; maybe it's the
feeling of the runway light being on an invisible
monorail under each wingtip, and then falling off below
and behind. This feeling was exemplified this
night with no moon or stars; I am sure he was filled
with amazement as we climbed out of 080. The climb
from this runway is east and away from Morden over rural
countryside, and I was on the gauges during the
climb. About 30 seconds from rotation, the
airspeed indicator dropped from 70 to 0 in a steady
frightening arch. Now I was born and raised 8 miles from
this spot, and in my 32 years had never known
grasshoppers, bees, or butterflies to out-flying into
pitot tubes at this time of year. The altimeter
said 400 feet when I did a quick left bank for downwind
and landing. It was after that 180 degree turn
that the word 'HELPLESSNESS' took on a new
meaning. No airport, no beacon, NO TOWN, nothing
but black everywhere. I flew on for a minute or so
hoping that as we flew over Morden we might get a
glimpse of lights. Nothing, more black, another
shallow left bank -- have to stay within visible range
of the airport. Black, Black, Black everywhere. My
concern in the preceding few seconds had switched from
sightseeing to Saving our precious hide. Sensing
that something was amiss, Darren asked what I planned to
do about our situation. I told him that I was
going to call Winnipeg air traffic control and tell them
about our icing problem, hoping that somehow the magic
of radar vector would get us in to Winnipeg, and down on
good old mother earth. The V.S.I. and horizon were
venturi-driven, and they must have been gasping for
air. I thought I was climbing for altitude to call
Winnipeg tower when we hit. The last I remember was
reaching for the radio. I woke up for a few
minutes on the 25th, just long enough to write a few
things on a scratch pad. I am sure it was “HOW IS
DARREN?” and when the answer was “FINE', I wrote “MERRY
CHRISTMAS” and handed it to my wife who was at my side
constantly.
By New year's day I started
feeling more or less in the land of the living, but very
numb. Left leg in a cast, left shoulder broken,
left ribcage broken, jaws wired up firmly, and no voice.
Although I remember nothing,
this is what happened from the time of the hit -- Darren
woke up sometime later from a cold wind in his face and
the strong smell of aviation gas dripping on him.
He unbuckled his lap-belt and groped his way of the the
wreck. He called me several times but got no
response; finally he got back into the wreck, unbuckled
me, and dragged me out into the snow away from the
danger of fire. The fog was down on the ground
level by this time and visibility was nil. We had come
down in a field about a mile from the airport, and the
week-old beacon was barely visible. Darren tried
unsuccessfully to stand me up several times -- he tells
me that I kept falling down. Finally he put his
slender little frame around and under me and
half-dragging half-carrying me, made his way toward that
faint flash of light. The beacon had been down for
a considerable time for repairs and had been
re-installed only a few days prior. Without that
light we might well have wondered in another direction
and almost certain death for us. We must have made
slow time crossing ditches, fences, and several
tree-lines with heavy snowdrifts. Darren was near
exhaustion when he finally reached the clubhouse.
He phoned for help and lay down to rest and wait.
Darren's grandfather got the
call and wasted no time on coming for us. It was
one of those nights when everything was coated with
about a half-inch of ice, even the highway. Darren
was in the Morden hospital till about mid-January
recovering from a badly cut scalp and loss of
blood. I took a fast 65 mile trip into Winnipeg by
ambulance accompanied by medical staff.
Miraculously I did not lose any
teeth in spite of a badly broken upper and lower jaw
(maybe it was the calcium in the milkshake and eggnog
diet for 2 months that restored them). I remember that
tough, mushy banana the day the wires came off my
teeth. I thank God for my recovery. I have
very minor scars, and with proper heals you wouldn't
even notice a limp. Oh, sure, I'll keep the
internal plates, wires, and pins, but I really don't
mind. I have my son and my health, that's two of
the best assets I can wish for. I was still in a
wheelchair in spring when I purchased CF-JTE, a 150
commuter, which I flew home with a cast on my leg.
I appears that aviation will stay in this family; my
wife is presently enrolled in ground school, I belong to
the EAA and have decided to build a 2/3-scale Mustang.
This will most certainly be a five-year family affair.
I learned that it can be fatal
to meet weather on the way down when you're on the way
up – especially at night in December.
NOTE: I checked with the
M.O.T. at the time of the accident investigation and
they tell me that checking the weather prior to the
flight that night would have revealed nothing -- since
the closest MET station to Morden is Winnipeg 55
nautical miles. The weather at Morden localized
and too low for Winnipeg weather radar. Since that
flight I have a new rule – NO STARS, NO FLIGHT.
Here are my own
retrieved original notes from a short presentation I made
with my Dad in 1982 (minor grammar corrections only):
- Go back 11 years -- Dec 22,
1971 --a few days before Christmas
- I am watching Star Trek on TV
at night
- I do have homework -- Language
Arts workbook -- I don't catch on, but lots to do
- Have a major part in school
play on Friday night
- Dad asks if I want to go
flying: Sure, I go
- Flight is peaceful, like
around Christmas
- We fly over Morden
- I just look out window,
thinking of how long and boring homework will be
when I get back
- I just want to stay up forever
- I can't see any lights any
more
- So I just relax and fall
asleep
- I didn't fall asleep -- but
knocked out!
- Woke up huddled over one of
the control columns
- Just hear a dripping sound
- It dawns on me that we crashed
- I look behind me -- I see a
dark shape -- it's Dad, sitting against a wall, not
alking, but I can hear breathing
- I'm not scared, but very
concerned
- We must get out and get help!
- I call Dad until he gets up
- There is a gaping hole in the
side wall of the airplane
- I crawl out first, then Dad
- Dad can't walk except with bad
limp
- I help for a while, but he
stops, falls over, and tells me to go on and phone
for help at clubhouse
- I got and I run -- snow is
deep, and I have to go through trees
- About a mile from airport
- I know where to run just by
the beacon light at the airport turning round and
round
- I run most of the way thinking
that I'm not hurt from the crash, but my nose feels
like I have a nosebleed -- too dark to tell
- Get to clubhouse, phone home
- My aunt is baby-sitting with
my brother and sister
- I tell my aunt that we have
crashed
- She says she will phone my
Grandpa to get us
- I wait at clubhouse, watching
highway for car that will turn down the road lading
to the airport -- one eventually does
- I get in back seat of the car,
and tell my Grandpa to go to end of the airport
landing strip
- He drives, using headlights
- Dad is not there!
- He turns around
- I try to explain that he was
where we just were
- Suddenly, Dad's shape shows up
in the headlights, walking
- Grandpa helps Dad into front
seat
- We got to Morden Hospital
- Grandpa pushes emergency door
alarm
- People come, get Dad and me
- I'm brought onto a table
- They use scissors to cut my
shirt off
- They are sewing my scalp and
it hurt, but I eventually fall asleep
- I wake up later in a hospital
bed
- Later, my Mom came in and told
me that Dad was in a Winnipeg hospital
- I didn't hate my stay at the
hospital, but I sure missed having Christmas at
home, so some of the stuff I got was brought to the
hospital
- I got lots of 'Get Well'
cards, and people telling me how brave I was, but I
didn't consider it so brave, but something that I
just had to do
- Being out of school was fun,
but didn't miss much because of Christmas holidays
- I went home in 2 weeks after I
got there
- Stayed home another week
- Went to Winnipeg to visit Dad
with Mom, brother, and sister
- Dad was all done up, and had
to talk to us through his teeth
- I finally saw for myself how
badly the crash had affected Dad
- I guess it was after that,
that I realized that surviving from the crash was
something!
- Dad was transferred to Morden
Hospital, so we could visit often
- I was back at school with my
bandages off, and almost no hair on the front of my
head, and stitches
- I didn't feel bad or nervous
about how my friends and teachers would act to me
though
A few more memories of these times from my mom:
The night of the crash, my mother was not at home, but
rather sewing drapery at the rear of the store that my
Dad owned ("Southern Floorcraft") along with my maternal
grandmother, and she distinctly heard a voice tell her
that "Jake has crashed". She stopped what she was
doing, informed my grandmother, and rushed directly to
the local hospital, where she heard me yelling (stitches
being sewn on my scalp). She rushed into the
emergency room, and witnessed my Dad in his
badly-damaged condition, and was told by the attending
doctor that she was not allowed to be there. My
dad was rushed to the HSC (Health Science Center)
hospital in Winnipeg that very night. Due to the
poor (icy) road conditions, she had a difficult time
convincing anyone to drive her there the next day, but
her best friend (Zenya) was willing to help.
Apparently, my Dad died twice on the way, in the
ambulance. In HSC, in the hallway, a
doctor/orderly noticed that my Dad was not breathing,
and performed an emergency tracheostomy -- in order to
open a air passage in his throat for breathing.
The plane itself was an old Cessna 120, built in 1946.
Here are some links providing more info about this model
and its 'big brother' Cessna 140:
Since I could not find any photos of my dad's Cessna
120 before it was destroyed, here is what it probably
looked like:
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